What she doesn't know
by forbiddenquill
Summary: After watching his parents get killed by the hands of Death Eaters, the only solution for Draco Malfoy's safety is to disappear off the face of the world and be left alone and he knows how-Polyjuice Potion. He poses as a Muggle and it's a brilliant plan-except the Muggle is roomates with Hermione Granger. And she doesn't know that she's falling for her worst enemy,


People always thought that after the war, there was complete and utter peace.

Draco thought those people were bullshit and completely mental with the delusion that there could ever be peace. He personally and strongly believed that there was no such thing as peace and if they call having no Death Eaters in their midst and the prejudiced ones with their mouth shut as peace then he wasn't sorry to say that those people were as stupid as fuck. In his life, there was no peace, only chaos and bloodshed and the never ending fear of being found dead the next morning. Peace doesn't exist because everywhere you go, the talk of peace isn't in the air; the talk of the recent war is in the air. People's minds are not in peace because they worry about the next day at work or at school or the unfinished potions essay they didn't make last night or the reported Death Eaters lurking about their homes. _To have peace,_ Draco thought, _you'd have to be dead._

But he wasn't dead and so there was no peace inside his head. After the war that completely shook the entire wizard nation, Draco found himself staring at the ceiling in his bedroom and lying down on his king sized bed, his wand stretched out in front of him, trained at the fly that had somehow entered in his premises. The room was large and had the typical green Slytherin color all around. The hangings around his bed were green, the covers were green, the curtains were green, etc. He liked the color but he wasn't naturally fond of it but after living in the green colored room for his entire life time, he had learned to suck it up and endure it.

He stared at the buzzing fly, his arm moving wherever it went. The fly seemed to be teasing him, like the entire world was teasing the death of the Dark Lord and the Malfoy family's demise and humiliation. He gritted his teeth and let his arm drop, his fingers releasing his wand. The fly still zoomed around but he didn't care anymore.

For the past month, Draco Malfoy didn't look like the biased child he was raised to be. His once sleeked back blonde hair had grown tousled and unkempt and it was no longer bright yellow blonde, it looked like dull blonde nowadays. His grey eyes were dead, no longer alight with delight and pride he had as a toddler. There were dark shadows under them due to all the sleepless nights he had endured for over a month. He had grown thinner over the past year and his skin was an unhealthy hue of grey. He wasn't the image of a man born with riches and power; he was the image of a man gone broken, broken by the war that had happened, broken by the trauma he had faced, broken without the idea of peace in mind.

He sat up and slid off the bed, stretching his thin limbs and staring outside the window where he could see the gray sky and the dying meadow. Everything around the Malfoys always seemed to be dying. He shook his head of that thought; he didn't know what to feel about his parents anymore. His mother was fine, great even but she always agreed with his father's bad choices and as Draco traced the outline of his wand, he realized that he had never really adored his father anymore, especially when it came to second year when he found out that Lucius had been the reason why the basilisk was released. Sure, he despised the Muggles and Mudbloods but that didn't mean they should die for it.

_I've changed_, he thought, _I'm not myself anymore. Fuck this shit. _

He moved over to his study table and gripped his chair. He took one long look at all of his Hogwarts books, all of his belongings, his Slytherin scarf, his Quidditch gloves, his notebook filled with plans for the Death Eaters to get into Hogwarts and plots to kill Dumbledore…He shook his head. He was not familiar with guilt; it was alien and foreign to him and he didn't want to remember that night at the tower anymore, the night he was supposed to kill Dumbledore but his nightmares would not let him be satisfied with a good night's sleep.

"Stop it,"he scolded himself, "Remembering won't fucking help you."

He checked the golden pocket watch lying on the table and found out that it was nearly seven p.m. It was time for dinner; he didn't have an appetite but his mother always begged him to eat, to be the healthy son she had given birth to so he did, even though he hardly finished his plate.

He stared at his reflection on the mirror and traced his fingers over the sallow cheeks, the shadows under his eyes and the stubble on his chin. He knew his mother did not like what she saw nowadays but she kept quiet because she knew he was having a hard time coping with everything. And he was.

He turned around, walked swiftly to the open doorway and headed downstairs in the ground floor. His room was in the second so it was a short trip. The Malfoy Manor was very large and spacious with a dozen imported furniture from different countries but the Manor always had a depressing state about it, like it had witnessed a murder but wasn't saying a thing. Always on the edge, always cautious. Draco felt like that nowadays. He had always imagined Ministry officials coming in and arresting him to a twelve year sentence in Azkaban but that never happened since saint Potter had personally made sure they would never set foot in that place. He hated him and his guts but he was grateful too.

"Draco," a soft voice spoke from a doorway leading to the drawing room.

Draco turned around and to his complete and utter disgust and repulsion, saw his father leaning against the doorframe; Lucius Malfoy did not look like a man who had power, riches and pleasure. Right now, he looked broken with his blonde hair ragged and unwashed, his grey eyes wild and unfocused, his chin full of unshaved stubble and his tall body thin and wasted. In his right hand was a bottle of firewhiskey. He had been drinking to drive away the pain of losing his wealth and the nightmare from the war. He was no longer Draco's father in the latter's opinion.

"What do you want?" Draco snarled.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at him. "You have no fucking right to say that to me, boy!"

"Try me, you sorry ass drunk!"

His father fumbled for his wand in his dirty robes but Draco already had his. He pointed it squarely at Lucius's chest; his grey eyes alight with rage and disgust. Lucius dropped his bottle of firewhiskey and it shattered against the floor with a loud _crash_, raising his hands and smiling nervously at his son.

"Come on now, Draco," he said slowly and carefully, "I'm your father."

"You're not my father," Draco growled angrily, "If you were, we wouldn't even be in this mess!"

In an obvious desperate attempt, Lucius made a wild grab for Draco's wand. Draco instinctively stumbled back and without a second thought, shouted,

"_Impediamenta!" _

His father flew back and hit the wall behind him with a loud _thud _that resonated across the manor. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Draco stood there, breathing heavily as beads of sweat trailed down from his pointed face. His arm was shaking and images from the war flashed in his head; the Killing Curse hitting Dumbledore's body, the screams of Hermione Granger in the drawing room as his aunt tortured her, the charred remains of the dead at the Hogwarts battle…

He gripped his temple in a futile attempt to control his thoughts. He turned away from his father and looked out the window and into the dark night. Out there, people were living with content and happiness of surviving the war and there he was with a pathetic fool for a father, an empty manor full of bad memories and a restless and definitely not peaceful mind.

.

Hermione Granger woke up in the dead of night, shivering and tears streaming from her eyes. She just had one of those nightmares again—but they weren't really nightmares, more like tragic memories replaying all over her head. She wiped away her tears as she remembered the pain of being tortured by one of the sickest women ever, the dagger digging itself into Dobby's frail body that led to his death, the werewolf Greyback feasting on Lavender Brown's body…

She pushed herself off the bed and stared at her watch; it was two a.m. in the morning. She had managed three hours of sleep. It was an accomplishment but that didn't mean her insomnia was going away. She's been having nightmares ever since the war and sleeping potion and sleeping pills just wouldn't help. She ran her fingers across the fabric of her bed and sighed; thinking of how much a good night's sleep would do her well. If only…

She shook her head and walked towards her study table which overlooked the garden of her front yard where her mom would always tend to the flowers. She was sleeping with her father in the next room. They had returned from Australia safe and sound when Hermione returned their memories. To hug them again and to have them fuss over how brave she had been, etc helped a lot with everything that had happened. She was very blessed to have them because sometimes, in times of need and stress, all you need is a parent's hand on your head and their arms around you and even if the entire world turned against you, they would always be there, loving you no matter what you do.

Hermione sat down on her desk and pulled out a Muggle book from the nearby shelf. She flipped through the pages, the words all merging together as she tried to read but the tragic memories were too thick and she couldn't do anything but just stare at the suddenly unfamiliar words on the paper.

Hermione Granger was very different than her twelve year old self. Her brown frizzy mane for a hair had somewhat tamed and she wore it frequently in a ponytail. Her large warm caramel brown eyes were filled with sadness and melancholy and had dark shadows under them. Her fair skin had turned paler and she had grown thinner due to her inability to properly focus on her meal nowadays because she had been thinking about the war, calculating every mistake she made and remembering every death that had happened. She was a broken woman who needed something to give her peace of mind and for once, reading did not help.

A tapping noise jolted her back to reality. Her head snapped up, thinking about Death Eaters sticking their wands in from her window and a werewolf scratching against the body of a victim— but it was only an owl, impatiently pecking its beak on her window, a letter tied to its leg. She visibly relaxed, reached over to open it and watched as the owl zoomed around in her small plain room for a bit before dropping in front of her, stretching out its leg. She untied the letter and without waiting for a bit of payment, the owl flew away, hooting and howling.

Hermione unfolded the letter and the sight of Harry's writing made her smile. She read it without hesitation:

Dear Hermione,

How are you? Everything's been great over the Weasley's but George still won't get out of his room. It's a miracle that Mrs. Weasley manages to give him something to eat. Anyway, hope you're doing well. You should visit us sometime and I've got something to tell you as well; the Ministry's hosting a victory party in celebration. The three of us are honored guests. It's on July 2, two months after the war and hopefully, you'll come. Write soon, okay? We miss you.

Love, Harry.

Hermione stared at her best friend's signature for awhile, her thoughts moving to the party. Should she go? She wasn't so sure and a victory party was the last thing she wanted after suffering so much losses. She turned to the second letter folded with the first and she frowned when she saw Ron's hasty and sloppy handwriting:

Hey, Hermione,

Been awhile now. Look, I really need to talk to you about something. Maybe you could drop by the Burrow later this afternoon. I'll be waiting.

Love, Ron.

_Barely a paragraph, _Hermione thought irritably. She placed the two letters on the table, leaned back on her chair, picked up her Muggle book and tried reading it again. A few minutes later, she slumped in defeat and dropped the book, rubbing her eyes with her first two fingers. She wanted to sleep, she wanted a break but this stupid insomnia had to keep her awake all night long. She glanced at her watch again; ten minutes into two. What to do…what to do…

She decided to write back.

A/N: Anyway, I am very sorry if the first chapter is boring to you. I just wanted to show how much Draco and Hermione are suffering from the aftermath of the war with their inability to sleep and nightmares and stuff like that. Anyway, I hope you like it. It took me about two days to finish this chapter so I'll make sure to update.


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